


from your heart bleeds dragon fire

by pantheras



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Organized Crime, well it’s linear if you read the sections in a certain order hehe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 18:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20344648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantheras/pseuds/pantheras
Summary: his father tells him that it’s better this way, better to have their men broken-in and completely, devastatingly loyal. mingyu, watching the boy he loves bend and break, isn’t so sure he agrees.





	from your heart bleeds dragon fire

He’s trembling. He’s trembling, _shaking_, where he sits in Mingyu’s arms, eyes wide as saucers. Mingyu adjusts his position, moves his legs so he can bring Minghao closer, closer, _closer_, as if he possesses the ability to wrap his beautiful boy up in his arms and protect him.

“_Mingyu_,” he breathes, voice coming out soft and shaky. Minghao stares at his hands, still violently trembling. Looking at him, like this, it hurts. “Mingyu, what’s happened to me?”

Minghao’s fingers are long, elegant. They’re used to mixing paints and pointing cameras and completing exams and wiping post-dance sweat from his too-long bangs. They weren’t meant for this. Mingyu takes them into his hands, folds them up so they fit in his palms, worries for the way they feel like ice. “_Who am I?_”

Mingyu presses them together closer still. His heart is hammering in his chest, every beat like a wildfire to his skin, searingly painful. In front of his eyes, his beautiful boy, all dignity and wisdom and majesty perfectly balanced by innocent giggles and cheeky remarks and boyish charm, reduced to ashes.

And it’s all Mingyu’s fault.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

“_Hey._”

The voice that jolts Mingyu back to consciousness is soft and floaty, although Mingyu’s not sure if that’s because he was drifting off or if the person’s voice is just like that. It sounds nice. The light accent is nice.

He looks to his left to find wide, unimpressed eyes blinking back at him. His vision focuses a little bit more to find impeccably smooth skin, a cute button nose, and endearing elf ears. His finger twitches. He really just thought _endearing elf ears_ to himself.

The boy removes his hand from where it was resting on Mingyu’s shoulder, presumably in an attempt to shake him awake. Mingyu didn’t even notice it was there, but the loss of it burns. He shoots the boy a smile in gratitude and receives a slight dip of the head in acknowledgement. The boy’s head turns back towards where the professor drones on and on, hand moving diligently across the notebook on his desk. His concentration is admirable; he doesn’t once glance at his phone the whole lecture, his head constantly moving up to read the board and back down to take notes. Mingyu knows because _he_ spends the rest of the class stealing glances, none of which are returned.

When the professor finally finishes his lecture, the boy packs up quickly. Mingyu is faster. He’s been waiting for it, like a coil compressed to spring, a snake set to strike, in the way he’s been taught. His purpose, this time, is significantly less morally compromising, significantly more self-serving.

Mingyu catches the boy’s arm just as he’s about to walk away. “Thanks for waking me up earlier.”

The light frown directed at the unknown hand at the crook of his elbow quirks up into something less than a smile.

“Don’t worry about it.” A beat. “Although, it didn’t seem like your being awake was very useful at all. Paying attention during class does actually help, you know.”

Mingyu flushes, caught. They’re moving down the stairs now, the boy leading, half a step in front. Mingyu’s brain scrambles for something to say. Seungkwan would be laughing at him right now, or astounded, that Mingyu, always responsible for manipulating language to his will, is so frazzled that he has nothing to say.

Another beat. “Rough night?”

Mingyu thinks back to the cold, damp room, his father’s men at every corner as he stood in the middle, mouth smiling but eyes unforgiving as he spoke with the unfortunate, gagged man tied to the metal chair. He thinks back to the Colt Mustang XSP dangling casually between his fingers and the cases and cases of ammunition lining the walls. He thinks of the knife currently concealed in the folds of his clothes.

He answers, “Yeah, something like that. I’m Mingyu, by the way.”

“Should’ve just let you sleep, then. Not sure I could’ve dealt with your snoring, though.”

“Hey!” Mingyu protests, affronted. “I don’t snore!”

“Are you sure about that?” the boy responds, “You kinda look like the type.”

His eyes are twinkling with mischief. Mingyu might already be a little infatuated.

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

The boy smirks, enigmatic and smug, shrugging his shoulders lightly as he walks away.

“Hey! Hey, come back here!” Mingyu calls out, laughter bubbling up in his throat. He follows the boy decidedly in the opposite direction of his next class. “Explain yourself! And you never gave me your name!”

That’s how it starts.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

_Don’t do it_, Mingyu wants to say, to scream. _Don’t do it, Minghao. If you do, you can never come back._

He can’t. His father’s men, _his_ men, are fanned out, watching them, watching _him_ just like they always are. When he was young, Mingyu used to find this a comfort. When he was young, he used to think he was so cool, with all of these grown-ups at his beck and call. When he was young, he used to think that he was loved—that, yes, there was a sense of duty in these men, but first and foremost, they were there because they loved him, because they cared about him.

Now, he knows better. He knows they are here out of fear and loyalty built not from the warm fire of the hearth, but from the ravaging flames of war.

But not his Minghao. His Minghao, who followed him here, to this mess, out of love and only love, who is dedicated to him with an allegiance of affection Mingyu never thought he would be able to have. Minghao stands in front of him, back rigid and spine ramrod straight. There is a Colt Mustang XSP hanging from his fingers, a Wilson Combat EDC X9 concealed in his jacket, an Eickhorn KM 4000 strapped to his thigh.

Mingyu’s perched on a table, left foot on the floor, right foot dangling a few inches above, thigh supported by the table top. He knows he looks like the picture perfect definition of relaxation and easy nonchalance, but it’s certainly not reflective of the way his heart is hammering and the way his breaths are caught in his throat. His favorite purple, embroidered suit suddenly feels constricting, no longer like a second skin or a coat of armor. The thin chains adorning his neck and the thick band on his pinky, meant to be symbols of status and protection, feel like they’re branding his skin. He’s sweating, too, the cold sweat of nerves in a too-frigid room, praying that the boy he loves doesn’t do what he’s meant to do.

At least the man sitting in front of Minghao deserves it. Or, at least, deserves it more than most.

He’s been a problem to them for _years_, constantly playing tug-of-war with their turf and their clients, ruining deals and killing their men, just for fun. He’s laughing even now, torso and legs roped to the chair, blood trickling down his temple from where one of Mingyu’s men punched him in the head. He treats this business like a game—and it is, in a way, even Mingyu can acknowledge that—with absolutely no regard for people’s lives. It makes Mingyu sick.

He and his father have been after this man for so long, almost but never quite managing to trap him where they want him. Then Minghao, brilliant, brilliant Minghao, nicked the files from Mingyu’s desk, spent no more than a week poring through documents and crafting a plan to present to Mingyu’s father.

And now, here they are.

The man is talking, saying god knows what, but Mingyu lets it go in one ear and out the other. It’s all being recorded, anyways.

His focus has been, and always will be, on Minghao. His grip on the Colt Mustang tightens slightly and Mingyu wants to lurch forward and snatch the gun from Minghao’s hands, wants to bring Minghao away from this place and from these people.

He doesn’t, though, because the part of him that has been steeped in this business his whole life is so _proud_. That’s his Minghao, standing there, looking one of their most _annoying_ pests in the eye, unflinching. He reminds Mingyu of Ao Guang, the azure beast of Chinese legend Minghao would speak so often of, the quiet whispers of a bedtime tale as they entangled themselves together under the covers and Mingyu would ask if Minghao knew any stories about dragons.

If Mingyu weren’t watching so closely, the sudden gunshot would’ve startled him. The manic laughter that followed, the heat of the fire ignited—everything would’ve surprised him. Instead, he plants his right foot on the floor, stands up, welcomes Minghao into his embrace with open arms.

It’s time to go. He jerks his head and their men exit the building. It goes up in flames: the mark of the Dragons.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

The next time they have class, two agonizingly long days later, Mingyu finally learns the boy’s name.

Xu Minghao. Seo Myungho.

Myungho rolls off the tongue easier, of course it does, but Mingyu wants to _learn_. He wants the Mandarin to sound natural coming from his foreign mouth, wants to be able to call Minghao endearing nicknames based off of his true name (Haohao, like he’d heard Minghao’s friends call out the day before as he’d tried to chase Minghao to his next class). There’s power in a name, in a true name. This simple fact is something Mingyu, _Kim Mingyu_, understands all too well.

Anyways, Mingyu learns Minghao’s name because “the boy” wasn’t cutting it and Mingyu couldn’t stop thinking about him. Mingyu didn’t realize he was one to believe in things like love at first sight, or soulmates, or anything vaguely romantic because, really, who was he to ask for such things doing what he does? But maybe….

Mingyu shows up to class early that day, way earlier than he’s ever been, iced Americano in hand and eyes trained on the door.

He knows the exact moment Minghao steps into the classroom, right hand clutching the strap of his messenger bag, looking like he just walked off a runway.

They make eye contact when Minghao looks up, searching for a seat, and that’s all Mingyu needs before waving his hand like a madman, canine-revealing smile plastered on his face.

The small, blue-tinted sunnies Minghao is wearing are perched at the tip of his nose, so Mingyu can see the way Minghao’s eyes roll at his antics. He doesn’t care, though, because there it is again, that hint of a smile that makes Mingyu want to see more.

Minghao sits in the open seat to the right of Mingyu, which makes Mingyu smile a little. Minghao must’ve noticed that Mingyu was left-handed; there really is no other reason for him to be picking the less convenient side of Mingyu to sit at, after all.

“Hi!” Mingyu greets, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically.

Minghao, preoccupied with arranging his notebook and writing implements on his desk, doesn’t respond right away.

The diligence with which Minghao prepares for class is admirable. Mingyu certainly doesn’t care enough about art history to act the same way, doesn’t really care enough about university in general, when he has more pressing concerns. Minghao is making him want to care, or at least figure out why _Minghao_ cares.

When Mingyu finally gets a response, it does not come without cheekiness.

“Hey.” Minghao’s eyes flick quickly to the nearly empty cup of coffee on Mingyu’s desk. “Looks like you won’t be falling asleep on me this time, hm?”

“That’s the hope,” Mingyu grins back.

“I mean, it won’t really matter either way, if you’re going to spend the entire lecture staring at me.” Minghao’s lips curl up in yet another smirk.

Despite the fact that he is now currently embarrassed and at a loss for words, it’s nice, Mingyu decides, being teased like this. Nobody really dares to do that anymore. At least not to his face.

“No promises,” Mingyu eventually quips back. “Can I get the name of the person I find more interesting than listening to an old guy talk about dead guys’ art?”

There is a brief moment of what seems like hesitation before Mingyu gets his answer. “Seo Myungho. And art history is fascinating. Why are you taking this class if you don’t think the same?”

Mingyu thinks back to a few weeks before the semester started, at the dinner table with his father, who had asked him, rather unexpectedly, what he thought about art. (“I don’t think about it,” he had chuckled then. His father hummed in understanding before replying, “Maybe you should. There’s a lot of money in art. Think about taking a class or two at school about art history, and let me know what you think.” It was just a suggestion, Mingyu knew. His father has never forced him to learn about something he didn’t want to. “Plus,” his father continued, “your mother would’ve loved it.” And that was that.)

“A family thing,” is what Mingyu tells Minghao, who nods like he gets it. He definitely doesn’t.

It doesn’t look like Minghao is going to say anything else, but Mingyu doesn’t want to stop talking to him. Class isn’t supposed to start for another three minutes anyways.

“When you were telling me your name before,” Mingyu begins to ask, “you hesitated. Is Seo Myungho not your real name?”

Minghao’s laugh is a light, delicate thing. What he’s treated to now is a watered-down version, Mingyu knows, but it’s lovely nonetheless. He wants to hear it again.

“It’s the Korean version of my name, sure.”

“Are you not gonna tell me your actual name? You know _my_ real name is Mingyu, Kim Mingyu. It only seems fair that I should know yours as well.”

“I mean, I’m kind of tired of people here butchering the pronunciation and not bothering to correct themselves, then calling me some weird hybrid Korean-Chinese in-between. Or making fun of me. So I just go with whatever’s easiest.”

“I want to learn, though! I don’t want to make fun of you or anything! And I promise I’ll practice so I can get it right!” Mingyu knows he’s whining now, but he just wants to _know_.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d be the type. You seem too pure.” _Oh_, Mingyu thinks to himself, _if only you knew_. “You remind me of an overgrown puppy, to be honest. Like, a golden retriever or something.”

There is a thoughtful pause before Minghao relents, “Fine. It’s Xu Minghao. _Please_ just stick with the Korean version, until you’re comfortable with the Mandarin. It’ll save us both some embarrassment.”

And, because Mingyu is used to getting what he wants, he asks, “Can I have your number, too?”

“Maybe.”

Mingyu beams.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mingyu asks, one last time.

Quite honestly, it’s a little too late for him to be asking. He’s already donned his favorite suit, knives and guns concealed within the folds of his clothing and men positioned outside his door, ready to escort them to the car.

Minghao’s back is towards him, but Mingyu doesn’t need to see his face to know that he just rolled his eyes.

“Gyu, we’ve talked about this to death already. Yes, I’m sure.” Minghao’s voice is exasperated, but at least this time, it’s tinged with fondness rather than melancholy and self-doubt.

Minghao straightens out from where he was adjusting the strap of the knife sheath on his right thigh. He turns to face Mingyu fully. Mingyu feels his heart stutter as Minghao walks closer.

He looks positively unreal. He’s dressed in all black: loose black button-up, tight black jeans, chunky black boots, slightly oversized black blazer that is currently draped over a chair and is supposed to hide his shoulder holster. His sharp, dark eyes, accentuated by his all-black ensemble, stand out against his alabaster skin and shining silver hair. His mouth curves into a smirk, seeing Mingyu stare so openly, and it makes him look out for blood. If Minghao were a vampire, Mingyu would let Minghao drain him dry in a heartbeat.

He holds his shoulder holster out for Mingyu. “Help me put this on?”

It’s unnecessary, really, but still Mingyu takes the holster in his hands as Minghao turns his back towards Mingyu again. There’s a full-length mirror in front of them, and Mingyu watches their reflections as Minghao’s arms lift, as he loops the straps onto Minghao’s body, as he rests his chin against Minghao’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Minghao’s waist.

Minghao leans back into his chest and smiles.

The moment is almost serene. Almost, because Mingyu can’t forget why they’re here and the assignment they’re about to undertake.

After a bit, he relinquishes his embrace and strides towards his desk. On it, sit a knife and three guns. Two of the three have been delegated to Minghao for the purposes of this assignment, of which he is the main actor. The last is Mingyu’s pride and joy. He picks two of them up, along with the knife, then plucks Minghao’s blazer off from the back of the chair, and walks back.

He stands in front of Minghao, face-to-face, and drapes the blazer over his shoulders. Minghao watches him, unmoving and unspeaking, with questions in his eyes. Mingyu tucks the knife into its sheath, fits one gun into Minghao’s shoulder holster. The other, he offers in his open palms.

Minghao glances down and takes the weapon from Mingyu’s hands, cradling it.

“Your favorite?” He sounds surprised.

“She hasn’t let me down, yet.”

Minghao fits the gun into the remaining opening and looks back up at Mingyu.

“Still don’t trust me?”

“I trust you, of course I do, more than I know what to do with. But I don’t trust _him_. I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

Minghao, smiling softly, traces the curve of Mingyu’s cheek with his thumb. His eyes are loving and tender and usually that would comfort Mingyu, would make him feel at ease, but nothing can stop the fear bubbling up in his chest tonight. _We’re never going to stop worrying about each other, are we?_ Minghao’s eyes say. Mingyu is inclined to agree.

“Believe in me, just a little while longer, okay?”

Mingyu sighs, then nods.

For Minghao? Anything.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Mingyu does, somewhat surprisingly, get Minghao’s number.

Minghao slips him a piece of paper at the end of class. He leaves wordlessly, too quickly for Mingyu to respond with anything other than a faint, “Bye!” as he had walked away, definitely too quickly for Mingyu to have opened up the slip, seen what it was, and reacted in the way he wanted to.

He saves Minghao’s number under “Haohao🐸” and texts immediately afterwards: his name followed by an obscene number of exclamation marks and some emojis thrown in for good measure. It’s a little over the top, sure, but Mingyu’s always kind of been like that. Plus, he’s _excited_. Minghao just seems so _interesting_.

It’s his curiosity that drives Mingyu, it always is. He wants to learn more about Minghao, so he does everything in his power to, and at some point a few weeks after their first encounter, Minghao has just sort of accepted Mingyu’s constant presence at his side.

They hang out a lot. Almost every day, in fact, unless one of them is too busy. There’s been a lull in activity recently, so it’s usually Minghao whose schedule is jam-packed. Mingyu doesn’t think Minghao has any sense of self-preservation, what with how he’s constantly moving between attending classes, spending hours in the art studio working on paintings, dancing on and choreographing for multiple dance teams, and making time for his friends to top it all off. He doesn’t seem to sleep, ever, because he’ll respond to Mingyu’s messages at the oddest times in the wee hours of the morning.

It’s quite concerning, if Mingyu’s being honest with himself, but he’s not sure he and Minghao are close enough yet for him to do much more than send a few concerned texts and lightly admonish Minghao’s eye bags when they see each other in person.

Being friends with Minghao is really refreshing, otherwise. He’s one of the most thoughtful people Mingyu knows, both in terms of how he can empathize so well with other people and in terms of the expansiveness of his knowledge. It feels like Mingyu can talk about anything and Minghao will be able to pick up the conversation, teaching Mingyu little tidbits of information or offering a new, eye-opening perspective that Mingyu would not have considered.

They get along unnervingly well, and for that, Mingyu is incredibly grateful.

Minghao introduces Mingyu to some of his other friends, stares at Mingyu in disbelief when he admits he can’t do the same because he doesn’t really have any at university. Mingyu meets a selection of Minghao’s dance teammates (Soonyoung and Junhui and Channie) and he loves them, loves how passionate they are about performing and about teaching, even to someone like him with no experience and two left feet.

He meets some of Minghao’s art friends, too, and this surprises him because he didn’t expect to meet someone he already knows. Minghao introduces him as “Vernonie,” but Mingyu’s known him since he was little and he’ll always be “Hansolie” to him. They pretend like they don’t know each other and their act is helped by the fact that Mingyu was entirely unaware that Nonie was interested in digital art and graphic design. It kind of makes him sad because he thought they were close, despite the hierarchies of their organization. At least, through Minghao, Mingyu knows a little bit more about Hansol now.

Sometimes (once every so often, becoming more and more frequent), Mingyu wishes Minghao knew. Sometimes, Mingyu wants to tell him, wants it _so bad_ because he wants to hear what Minghao has to say, wants to know if Minghao would think any differently of him because he’s a Dragon. Minghao would be able to help, that Mingyu is sure of. He’d be able to help with everything, like maybe rationalizing why it is they do what they do, but especially soothing Mingyu’s nerves when he’s out on assignment. It’s a rather selfish desire, to burden Minghao with this knowledge in order to make _himself_ feel better, but that’s why they remain as such: desires. Desires that only Mingyu knows about, desires perhaps too dangerous to be voiced out loud.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Mingyu is pacing.

It’s not something he usually does, even when he is at his most stressed. This time, however, it involves Minghao. Therefore, he’s giving himself a pass.

He’s in the hallway just outside his father’s office. He wishes he were inside. Inside, he could be with Minghao. Inside, he could be with Minghao and he could hear his father’s reaction to Minghao’s perilous, perfect plan and he could know just how badly Minghao’s well-being is at risk.

He understands, though, why he’s outside. Minghao had purposely asked him not to be in the office when he presented the plan to his father. He had argued that Mingyu’s presence might cloud his father’s judgement, more than it might already be by the mere fact that Mingyu is in love with Minghao, something his father takes very seriously. Minghao had wanted the success or failure of his proposal to his and his alone. Mingyu _gets it_—truly, he does—but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

When the office door finally, _finally_, opens to reveal Minghao stepping into the hallway, there are a thousand questions burning the tip of Mingyu’s tongue. Before he can ask any of them, Minghao grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers, and shakes his head, a tiny, almost imperceptible thing. _Let’s talk away from your father’s guards_, Minghao doesn’t say. Mingyu hears it all the same.

They go back to Minghao’s dorm room. There, surrounded by almost-finished paintings and rolls of undeveloped film and Minghao’s meticulous decorations, Mingyu feels at home.

“So,” Minghao says once the door locks behind them, “your father approved.”

Mingyu’s halfway towards completely taking off his left shoe when he freezes.

“That’s amazing, Hao,” he manages as he regains control over his motor functions.

Mingyu doesn’t need to be looking at Minghao to see the slight frown on his face as he replies, “You’re not happy.” It’s not supposed to be a question. Minghao knows. He always knows.

Mingyu sighs as if doing so will expel the convoluted tangle of emotions swirling inside his brain. It doesn’t help much.

“I _am_ happy for you,” Mingyu finally exhales.

“But?” Minghao’s lips are curved into a smile, but there’s no humor in his voice or in his eyes.

“I’m _worried_, okay? We always tell each other not to worry, but neither of us is very good at that.” Mingyu tries to laugh, but what leaves his mouth instead is a strangled, distressed sort of thing that has Minghao widening his eyes in concern. “And it’s worse that this assignment is so important and it’s the first one ever that you’re leading and if it goes badly, if he does something we don’t expect, then what’ll happen to you? Even if you don’t get hurt, what if everyone blames you? They don’t know how much work you put into figuring this out! They’ll just see that something went wrong and jump down your throat and I would feel horrible for bringing you here, for being responsible for your involvement in this world to begin with.”

Mingyu collapses onto the bed, chest heaving, just as Minghao’s expression twists into something unpleasant.

“Is that what this is? You’re worried that me fucking up will ruin your reputation or something? Because you were the one who vouched for me?”

Mingyu immediately shoots up, “None of this is about me! How could you even say that? Ever since I met you, _everything_—every action, every word, every _thought_—has been about you. If something happens to you, on such a big assignment…. The chances that the _something_ being severe are so much higher than they normally would be. And if anything did happen to you, it would be all my fault. You’re only here because you love me and I want you too much to deny you anything. If something happened to you because of me, because of my life…. God, I don’t even think I could stand to look at myself.”

The silence that engulfs them afterwards is deafening. Mingyu can hear his blood pumping in his ears as he watches Minghao’s face relax from hurt into comprehension.

When Minghao next speaks, he sighs, “You don’t know that, Mingyu.” He looks contemplative. “Quite honestly, there’s still a lot you don’t know about me… about what’s happened to me….” His eyes seem lightyears away and pained, as if remembering some horrible happenstance in the distant past. “That’s not on you, either. It’s not…,” he trails off. “It’s not something I’m ready to talk about. But, you know, maybe I would’ve ended up here without you.”

His lips are pulled into a small smile, but to Mingyu, it looks more like a painful grimace. Minghao disappears into the bathroom and Mingyu doesn’t follow. He stays seated on the bed, thinking.

Minghao is right. Mingyu mulls over his words as they get ready for bed. It’s true; he doesn’t know much about Minghao’s past or his family. Mingyu knows who Minghao is in the present, knows he wants Minghao to be in his future, and that had been enough. But now, with Minghao’s implications, Mingyu wonders. He wonders if there was maybe another reason why Minghao left China, if not only for his studies. He wonders if there was maybe another reason why Minghao began martial arts training, other than building up his confidence and making him healthy. He wonders how Minghao has gotten so good so fast, because in new recruits, it usually takes a while for them to shift their mindsets, for them to be comfortable with all of this secret-keeping and morally compromising work and risk of death. But Minghao, well. He’s always been special.

They’re tucked under the covers, lights out, Mingyu about to drift off into sleep, when Minghao breathes into Mingyu’s skin, “It’s too late to change the past, Gyu. Don’t think about it too much. I’m already here, so just trust me, okay?”

Sleepily, Mingyu nods. He knows Minghao can feel it, because his cheek is resting against the top of Minghao’s head. Minghao shuffles closer and sighs, one last time for the night. His breathing evens out and Mingyu pulls him closer still.

Mingyu always wants to know more about Minghao. This time, he wonders, _What happened in Minghao’s past and what about it, exactly, makes him so afraid?_

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

When he enters Minghao’s room after a muffled voice calls out, “It’s open!”, the last thing Mingyu is expecting to be greeted by is the sight of a shirtless Minghao.

Mingyu, too flustered to think properly, almost walks out the door right then and there. He also almost trips on nothing and thanks whatever deity there is that Minghao’s back is facing him. Sort of. He collects himself, though, and asks, “Uhhh… Hao… why are you not wearing a shirt?”

“Oh,” Minghao says. Mingyu sees Minghao’s head dip lower, probably examining his bare torso, before he raises it again and turns around to properly face Mingyu.

Mingyu barely contains his gasp.

Sure, Minghao’s upper body is currently on full display, but what captures Mingyu’s attention is the intricate tattoo on the left side of Minghao’s chest. It’s a Chinese dragon, long and lean and intimidating—kind of like Minghao himself. Rather than the typical horizontal or vertical layouts that Mingyu has seen on his own men, Minghao’s dragon is wrapped around itself in an infinity shape. It’s beautiful.

Unbidden, Mingyu’s mind wanders to Minghao standing beside him on assignment, sitting next to him in a meeting, back to back with him in a fight. _It’s almost like it’s fated_, his mind unhelpfully supplies upon seeing the tattoo. Mingyu tries to dispel the selfish thoughts as quickly as they come.

“Sometimes I paint without a shirt on,” Minghao is explaining. Mingyu snaps out of his daydream, back to reality. “It’s a lot easier to wash paint off my body than to remove it from my clothes, so.”

“I like your tattoo,” Mingyu manages. His throat feels dry.

“Thanks,” comes the reply.

Mingyu can tell that Minghao is about to drop any and all conversation about the dragon tattoo, but that isn’t what Mingyu wants to happen. He asks, “Does it have any meaning?”

Minghao shrugs, “You know how some producers or singers or authors have a stage name or a pseudonym? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but The8 is mine for my art. It’s how I always sign my pieces.”

“Why The8?”

Minghao hums thoughtfully as he cleans up his art supplies, “Well, excuse me if I sound cheesy, but if you turn an eight sideways, you get an infinity symbol. And I’ve always liked to think of myself as someone with infinite possibilities. Plus, eight is a lucky number in Chinese culture, and I’m not _really_ superstitious, but the extra reassurance is nice.”

“So, why the dragon?”

“Oh, yeah. A lot of my friends back home would call me ‘Dragon Eight’ and I guess it kind of just stuck with me.”

“Can I call you ‘Yongpal’ then? Yongpalie!” Mingyu grins.

“Sure,” Minghao agrees easily. Mingyu doesn’t miss the way his eyes roll.

Minghao disappears into his bathroom and Mingyu can hear the sound of running water. He doesn’t need to be told to make himself comfortable. He’s been over enough times now to know where he likes working best, so he unpacks his laptop and notebooks from his bag and spreads his homework out. He’s in the middle of highlighting when Minghao walks back in, thankfully with a shirt on. Minghao plops down next to Mingyu, pulling out his own laptop, and starts making headway into his assignments as well.

They work in concentrated quiet for a good half hour before Mingyu has an off-topic thought.

“Hey,” he says. Minghao looks at him in question. “If you’re eight, what if I’m nine? Get it? Like Min-gu instead of Min-gyu!”

Minghao shoots him an incredulous look. “And when are you going to use that, Mr. Business Major?”

“Well, what if we started a company together! Or like… a fashion brand! I could handle all the business and finance stuff, you could design the clothes, and we could call ourselves The8 and Min9 and take over the world!”

Mingyu knows he’s acting way too excited and he can almost hear Minghao call him an overeager puppy again. He can’t stop himself, though. The thought of him and Minghao doing something together, owning something together, makes him more happy than he would’ve thought.

“That’s way too complicated.” Minghao’s rolling his eyes once more. “If anything we should stick to something simple, like MM.”

Despite his snarky comments, Minghao can’t stop the smile from growing on his face as Mingyu nods enthusiastically back at him. His eyes are bright and happy and it warms Mingyu’s heart knowing that it’s because of him, because of the possibility of a _them_.

Mingyu’s maybe a little bit in love.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

“Xu Minghao, what the fuck is this?”

In Mingyu’s hands are the folders for which he’s been searching for days—manila folder after manila folder containing information about one particular individual he warned Minghao not to delve into. And one last manila folder with Minghao’s research and a neatly laid-out plan that scares Mingyu stiff.

In Minghao’s hands are a palette and a brush. He’s sitting on his stool in front of an already half-painted canvas. The piece he’s working on looks stunning, but he walks away from it, carefully placing his palette on the tarp covering the ground, when he hears Mingyu’s voice.

“Gyu, wait-”

“I told you not to do this! He’s too dangerous. He’s entirely unpredictable and sadistic and I don’t want you anywhere near him!”

“That’s the point of what I’ve done, though,” Minghao argues, defensive. “He’s _not_ unpredictable at all, actually, if only you’d just _listen_-”

“Even if we did do this plan, I don’t want you to be there!” Mingyu’s shouting now and he’s angry in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever let Minghao witness before.

Minghao is stunned into silence. Only for a moment. His voice is small and defeated when he finally does speak.

“Do you not want me here? Is that it? Do you not want me with you anymore?” Minghao doesn’t cry. Mingyu knows that Minghao hates crying in front of other people if he can help it, but he sounds so close to doing exactly that in this moment. It pains him, to have been the cause.

“Oh, darling,” Mingyu sighs, softening in an instant and cupping Minghao’s face in his hands, “I always want you with me. That isn’t it. Never think that I don’t want you by my side.”

“What am I supposed to think, then, every time you push me away? It hurts, you know, when you tell me I shouldn’t come with you. It hurts because it feels like you still don’t trust me, even after everything, and it hurts because of how everyone looks at me afterwards. You brought me in and then don’t want me to do anything and they look at me like I’m just your lover, and I _am_, but they look at me like I’m useless, despite how many assignments I’ve been on. That’s why I did this. To prove to you and prove to your father and prove to them that I can _do something_. You don’t need to keep babying me. I want to _help_.”

Minghao’s right hand has come to clutch Mingyu’s left wrist. Mingyu can feel the coolness of the paints Minghao was mixing before Mingyu interrupted him, can feel the way his hand shakes slightly. Minghao’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. It’s ethereal and heartbreaking all at once. Mingyu’s anger shifts to the people who think they can treat Minghao like shit and get away with it. If they know what he is to Mingyu, what he _means_ to Mingyu, how could they even dare?

But Mingyu’s first priority is Minghao. He brings their foreheads together and they’re close enough to be sharing breaths.

“I’m sorry, Hao. I didn’t know that’s how you were feeling and I didn’t know that’s how other people were looking at you. I can only promise to try to be more aware. Know that I never wanted you to feel poorly about yourself.” He presses a kiss to the crown of Minghao’s head. “The only reason why I never want you to come with me is because every time you’re there, by my side, you’re at risk of _dying_. The thought of losing you? It petrifies me. I don’t ever want to be in a world without you breathing in it, and I would hate myself all the more if you were gone because you were with me. Do you get it?” Mingyu’s voice is a whisper, “Do you know how much I love you?”

Minghao pulls Mingyu into a hug. His head rests perfectly in the crook of Mingyu’s neck and their chests are pressed so closely together that Mingyu can feel the way their hearts are pounding. Soon enough, their heartbeats synch.

“Don’t you know that I feel the same?” Minghao says, voice also a whisper. Anything louder would feel inappropriate, would shatter the delicacy of the moment they’ve created. “I get so worried every time you leave without me because I never know if you’re coming back. The thought of being without you petrifies me, too. I’d rather be there, beside you, just in case I can do something. And if I can’t, then at least I’ll be the first to know.”

Neither of them says anything after that, for a while. They stand there, wound together, drinking in the comfort of the other’s presence amidst the fraught tension brought upon by Minghao’s plan. It’s a brilliant plan. Mingyu would be a fool not to admit it. But its brilliance means the likelihood of them needing to execute it is that much greater.

“I’m sorry, Hao. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.” Minghao snuggles closer and his voice is all but muffled. When he next speaks, the way his lips move against Mingyu’s skin sends a tingle up his spine and a searing heat across the rest of his body. “Please, let’s just be together. We’ll face this together.”

_Okay_, Mingyu thinks, _together_.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

His father’s trying to kill him. Not literally, but the amount of assignments and late-night meetings and impromptu phone calls is getting ridiculous.

Mingyu knows why this is happening, of course. He’s about to graduate from university and, after that, he’s supposed to be a more present leader. His father has decided to ramp up his responsibilities now in preparation for that. So, Mingyu understands. That doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.

The long hours are taking a toll on him. He has classes all day and homework to finish, which is more than some college students know how to deal with already, and then he essentially has to go to work. He doesn’t get to crawl into his bed until 5am some nights. His body hates him for it.

It’s not just a physical beating that he’s taking. He’s basically had to sacrifice what little social life he’s had. He doesn’t have time to reply, has to spontaneously cancel plans, or forgets altogether. It mostly just affects one person, but maybe that’s also why Mingyu feels so terrible about it, because it’s Minghao.

Mingyu tries his best to be bright and happy when he sees Minghao in person. He can tell Minghao sees right through it. Minghao’s concerned for him, too. He’ll send texts telling Mingyu to take care of himself and is an absolute angel when Mingyu has to pull yet another shitty excuse out of his ass for why they can’t see each other.

But it seems even angels have their limits.

Mingyu is sweating.

He’s so fucking late. He and Minghao were supposed to see a film together, one of those artsy, black and white ones that Minghao loves so much, but Mingyu had gotten a call from a supplier just as he was about to step foot out the door and it’s not a call he could’ve rejected. Mingyu’s pissed now, too, because the guy was even more of an asshole over the phone than he is in person. It’s not like not seeing his face during this conversation is going to make Mingyu forget how aggravating he was the next time they meet.

When Mingyu finally gets there, Minghao is waiting for him.

Before he can open his mouth to apologize, before he can even catch his breath, Minghao is speaking.

“I can’t do this anymore, Mingyu.” He sounds so sad and resigned and Mingyu wants nothing more than to explain himself. Before he can (before he can _lie_), Minghao carries on, “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I can’t keep putting myself through this.”

“I- Wait, what?” Mingyu wants to hit himself.

“You really don’t know? You think I wouldn’t notice?” The more Minghao talks, the more worked up he gets and the more Mingyu feels his heart burning with guilt. “You’ve canceled or rescheduled or have come late to or have just _not shown up_ to almost every single plan we’ve made together for, like, half a month. Do I really mean that little to you?”

“No, Hao, that’s not it,” Mingyu immediately protests. _Don’t you know how much I care about you?_ Mingyu wants to shout. He can’t, not when Minghao has every right to accuse him like this.

“What is it, then? Can you give me an explanation that isn’t one of those shitty ones where you know I know you’re lying?”

Mingyu opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, only to let out a vague sound of defeat. He can’t lie anymore, not when Minghao is looking at him with a raised eyebrow, past all of his defenses, straight at his very core. He can’t tell Minghao the truth, either. He wants to, though, so badly. This time, it isn’t even really selfishness that drives Mingyu’s want. If he could tell Minghao the truth, Minghao would understand. He would understand Mingyu’s inability to spend time with him is not any fault of his own. He would understand that it is Mingyu’s duty to his family, not the plethora of self-deprecating thoughts Mingyu is certain Minghao has conjured up, that keeps Mingyu away. He would understand that he deserves all the attention and friendship and _time_ that Mingyu has to offer, but that Mingyu is just short on time.

Minghao sighs. It’s a deep, bone-weary exhale, laced with disappointment. His impeccable posture wilts as he sighs, like he’s curving in on himself. He crosses his arms and raises his shoulders slightly. He looks as if he’s warding off the cold, and maybe he is because he’s never liked the cold, but Mingyu knows what this body language means.

With the exhale, it’s as if Minghao’s previous anger has dissipated, only to be replaced by hurt and regret. Disappointing Minghao, making him regret their friendship… Mingyu imagines this is what ingesting poison must feel like, every cell in his body being contaminated by something painful and vile.

“Forget it, Mingyu.” Minghao never really raised his voice, but it’s barely above a whisper now. “Friends grow close and drift apart all the time. I guess this isn’t any different. I just can’t… I can’t keep doing this, can’t keep feeling like you don’t really care enough to even call me a _friend_, especially when I-”

He cuts himself off abruptly, shakes his head as if to dismiss his own thoughts. He sighs.

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing he _can_ say, but he can’t let Minghao leave him like this. He doesn’t want to let go of the one person who makes him feel like _himself_, when most of the time, Mingyu is a sheet of origami paper or a mound of clay, ready to be folded or molded to whatever he needs to be because that’s the only way he can survive.

“Hao,” he tries, “I _do_ care, you have to believe me. I care more than you know and more than I’ve been showing, especially these last few weeks, but I just…. It’s hard to explain.”

The downcast way Minghao looks at him hurts. Everything hurts.

“If it’s that hard for you to explain, it just means you don’t trust me, then, right? Or at least not as much as you know I trust you.”

“Hao, _please_. Please don’t go.” Mingyu’s crying as he pleads, but still, Minghao turns to leave. Mingyu catches Minghao’s wrist—one last, desperate attempt—and can’t help but think about how even his shorter fingers can fit so perfectly around Minghao’s thin wrist.

Minghao doesn’t turn back to look at him as he says, “I’ll see you in class, Mingyu.”

He tugs his wrist out of Mingyu’s grasp as he goes, back hunched over, still curled in on himself.

The friction of Minghao’s skin against Mingyu’s fingers is like a match against a striking surface. His hand burns and so does his heart.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Mingyu is the one fluttering around this time. How can he not, when his father has finally given Minghao permission to be an active participant in assignments, rather than a spectator that melts into the shadows.

He knows he should be proud of Minghao, for gaining his father’s trust so quickly, and he was, at first. He knows his father had been observing Minghao’s training and sparring session closely and had been asking about Minghao’s performance during assignments. He was expecting it, to be honest, because Minghao is the first person Mingyu has ever brought in. What he wasn’t expecting—and, in hindsight, it’s _Minghao_, so perhaps Mingyu really should’ve anticipated this turn of events—was for his father to be so impressed.

He was thrilled when his father called him to his office to ask whether he would be willing to let Minghao slowly start to show his real abilities; he was so thrilled, he said yes without hesitation. Reflecting on it now, his father had seemed a little shocked that Mingyu was so quick to agree. In the present, Mingyu is also shocked that he was so quick to agree.

At any rate, he’s trying his best not to seem anxious. He’s not very successful, it turns out, because as soon as Minghao is finished lacing up his shoes, he takes one look at Mingyu and bursts out laughing.

“I’ll be okay,” Minghao attempts to soothe. “You’re going to be there, too. We’ll keep each other safe.”

He pecks Mingyu’s lips quickly before he heads out the door and disappears from view. They’re arriving separately this time: Minghao with the others on sentry duty and Mingyu fashionably late to begin the deal.

Mingyu has done this dozens of times before, and perhaps that is what’s making him so jittery about tonight. He wishes Minghao’s first time off observation was anywhere else because he knows that this area, in particular, is heavily disputed and prone to disruptive territorial fights.

Tonight proves to be no different.

Before Mingyu even steps foot out of the car, he can hear the sounds of a struggle. Something is very, very wrong and it makes Mingyu very, very nervous. He and his guards start sprinting to the warehouse as soon as their feet touch the pavement. Maybe he should be concerned with their business, but all he can think is _Minghao, Minghao, Minghao. Please, let Minghao be okay._

When they enter the building, his guards immediately leap into the fray, assisting the nearest person they can find. Mingyu stands still, counting on the fact that everyone else is distracted, eyes scanning the room for one person.

His zeroes in on Minghao and Mingyu nearly _faints_, right then and there.

It looks like it’s three against one and two of the three have fucking _guns_ out already, but Minghao is just standing there and is he _laughing_?

Mingyu starts to head towards Minghao’s direction, but as soon as he begins to move, Minghao does as well.

A gunshot goes off, but it hits the wall behind where Minghao was just a second ago. Minghao is twisting the arm of one gunman behind their back, forcing them to drop their weapon as Minghao swings his legs around their neck and uses gravity to bring the gunman down. As they fall, Minghao reaches a long arm out, and hits a pressure point on the other gunman’s arm with military precision. With everyone disarmed and one person already unconscious, it seems almost easy for Minghao to take on two people at once.

He doesn’t look like he’s even broken a sweat.

Mingyu thought he’d seen every side of Minghao. He’s seen the cynical art student, the impassioned dancer, the carefree barely-an-adult, the serious martial artist, and (perhaps Mingyu’s favorite) the hopelessly romantic lover, who remembers all the little facts and notices all the minute details about Mingyu that others overlook, who never fails to make Mingyu feel loved, whether it is through actions or words.

But this Minghao? This almost manic, mid-fight Minghao? It’s like a switch has been turned on, or many have been turned off to accommodate for the way Minghao is right now. This is all of Minghao’s grace and meticulousness and persistence and adroitness condensed into something Mingyu has never seen before.

Xu Minghao is the love of his life. And he is terrifying.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

He hasn’t seen Minghao in a while.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt, if he said he didn’t feel a constant ache in his chest, if he said he felt whole without Minghao in his life.

He doesn’t know how he let one person become so important to him, especially considering… well. He doesn’t know how it happened, but it did, and here Mingyu is, stuck with the consequences.

He hasn’t seen Minghao in a while, so he is completely and utterly unprepared for when he finally does again.

Minghao is talking to someone. The other person looks tall, lanky, wholly unthreatening except for the leather jacket and ripped black skinnies and combat boots, but that’s just fashion. Still, there’s something… off. Mingyu can’t quite place what it is (it’s certainly not jealousy; he’s long since come to terms with what Minghao means to him and would acknowledge it if it were), but he doesn’t trust the person talking to Minghao, which in and of itself is a problem because he’s been admonished one too many times for being too naïve.

He inches closer to them and maneuvers himself so he can see the other person’s face, thanking the trees for the way they block his frame from view.

When he finally does get a look at the other person’s face, he feels bile rise in his throat. He knows exactly who that is.

He’s a fucking snake, and not just in the pop culture sense. Bambam is a _Serpent_ and they’ve been rivals with the Dragons for ages. And Bambam? Well, he’s Mingyu’s direct counterpart. He’s powerful and he knows it and wields his power in a way that makes even Mingyu nervous. Mingyu knew he was right to feel wary.

When he realizes that it’s _Bambam_, of all people, talking to Minghao like they’re friends or something, he doesn’t even think. He marches forward, grabs Minghao’s bicep, and says lowly, “Minghao, we need to go.”

Minghao, understandably, looks at him in pure bewilderment.

“Mingyu, what the fuck,” he curses as he tries to rip his arm free from Mingyu’s grasp. But Mingyu’s got him in a vice-grip—his knuckles are almost white—and he can’t escape. Mingyu barely even notices, too busy glaring at Bambam, who looks about three seconds away from bursting out laughing.

“We need to go,” Mingyu repeats. “_Now_.”

And with that, he tugs Minghao away.

“Mingyu, what the _fuck_ are you doing!” Minghao hisses. Mingyu can barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. He looks back at Bambam, just once, and immediately regrets it. Bambam is staring at them with a smug look on his face and as soon as he makes eye contact with Mingyu, he winks.

Mingyu’s blood runs cold. What is Bambam trying to with Minghao? With _his_ Minghao? Who does he think he is? Minghao doesn’t know _anything_, hasn’t done anything wrong, except for treat Mingyu like a human being instead of some horrifying monster or menacing authority figure. _He hasn’t done anything!_ Mingyu wants to scream, _Leave him alone!_

Minghao’s voice snaps him back from inside his own head, “Mingyu, it fucking _hurts_. We’re away from him, okay? Let _go_.”

Immediately, he releases Minghao’s arm.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Minghao’s voice sounds irked beyond belief. He has every reason to be, but Mingyu isn’t thinking about that right now.

“Why were you talking to him?” Mingyu asks, voice full of urgency.

“He’s one of my _friends_, you dipshit! He’s a new foreign transfer student and I’ve been showing him around! Why the fuck do you care?”

“You can’t talk to him anymore.” He doesn’t answer Minghao’s question; he _can’t_.

“_What_? Mingyu, I don’t know who you think you are, but you don’t get to decide who I can and can’t talk to, even if we were still friends.”

It hurts more than he wants to admit, hearing those words come out of Minghao’s mouth. He’s right, though, and it’s all Mingyu’s fault that they aren’t friends anymore. Still, he wants to protect Minghao. He has to try.

“Please, just trust me, okay? He’s dangerous.” He tries to let his sincerity bleed into his voice and color every word, so Minghao _understands_. He’s always been able to understand.

“Dangerous? Are you kidding me? I’ve seen him trip over air at least three times in the past two days! You don’t get to do this to me, Mingyu! You don’t get to befriend me, then throw me away, then get _jealous_ when I start talking to someone else and try to get me to stop, okay? You don’t get to control me like some little puppet! I won’t let you!”

Minghao sounds angry, so _so_ angry, more furious than Mingyu has ever heard him before and Mingyu wishes he could just innately _get it_, like he’s always been able to before. He can’t blame Minghao because Minghao doesn’t know and it’s times like these where Mingyu wishes he did because it’d be so much easier to make Minghao understand that Mingyu just wants to protect him. Mingyu just wants to keep him safe. And so far, keeping Minghao safe has meant shielding him from Mingyu’s ugly life.

“I love you, okay?” Mingyu finally explodes.

He doesn’t know how else to make Minghao _understand_, and this, at least, is the truth. This is the only truth that Mingyu can offer Minghao right now, that he loves him and cherishes him and would do anything to keep him out of harm’s reach.

“I love you so much, you can’t even… _I_ can’t even begin to comprehend!” Mingyu feels like he’s about to cry. “I know we haven’t been talking because I fucked everything up, but, _god_, I love you and I’m scared shitless of losing you. Even if I’ve already lost you, at least right now I know that you’re safe and you’re breathing and if you keep talking to Bambam, I won’t know that anymore, okay? I won’t have that certainty and it’ll eat at me and eat at me until I-” _Until I put out a hit on Bambam_, Mingyu almost says. _Until I make sure myself that he’s dead and can’t hurt you._ He doesn’t. He can’t.

“Please, just trust me, Hao,” he pleads. “Please just trust that I love you and want to keep you safe. Please just trust me one last time.”

Where Minghao’s eyes were burning with emotion (with fury) before, they shutter closed upon Mingyu’s words. They’re blank—and Mingyu’s heart twists painfully, hurts even more because it’s thudding so hard Mingyu’s afraid it will beat out of his chest—before shifting into something complicated.

Minghao’s gaze… it isn’t cold, but it’s certainly not comforting either, as he says, “Oh, Mingyu…. How am I supposed to believe you?”

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Minghao is fluttering around him like a hummingbird right now. It would be cute, if not for the fact that Mingyu needs to prepare for this assignment and calming down a worrying boyfriend is not usually part of his getting ready routine. It _is_ Minghao’s first time on an assignment, though, so Mingyu guesses that’s the reason why he’s so antsy.

“Minghao-” Mingyu attempts to call out. Minghao isn’t listening to him. “Minghao, please-” He’s still pacing. He hasn’t even registered that someone is saying his name, too busy murmuring under his breath and patting at different areas on his body to make sure he has everything.

“_Babe_,” Mingyu nearly shouts. Finally, Minghao stops what he’s doing and acknowledges him.

“Please, I’m begging you, stop worrying. It’s just a routine mission, okay? Just a normal check up on a supplier. You’ll be fine.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, “I know _I’m_ going to be fine. I’m still a hatchling. You and your father have made it perfectly clear that I’m not going to be doing anything, that I’m just there to observe.”

Mingyu grins when Minghao calls himself a hatchling. It’s a badly concealed secret that “hatchling” is how Mingyu and his father refer to those who have yet to lead their own assignments. Most people, however, hate the term. They think it’s belittling and childish; they care too much for their reputations to associate themselves with baby chicks. It’s endearing how little concern Minghao has for trivial things like that, how comfortable he is with himself.

“I’m worried about _you_, stupid,” Minghao admits, blushing a little. Mingyu’s grin widens, widens enough to show his canines, as he reaches for Minghao’s right hand and cradles it carefully in both of his own.

“I appreciate it, Hao, but it’s not _my_ first time. I’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

Mingyu tightens his grip with one hand, lets go with the other. He pulls Minghao with him and together, they walk out the door.

It truly is a routine assignment, but it feels fresh and new, knowing that Minghao will be in the shadows this time, watching him. It makes Mingyu feel like he should put on a show. Maybe that’s why he’s more aggressive tonight with his provocations, maybe that’s why he actually manages to piss someone off in the middle of a deal instead of getting under their skin, just a little.

The whole situation feels rather trivial to Mingyu. One minute, he’s snickering, the next, there’s a knife at his throat. He’s rather annoyed that they think they can threaten him like this. Mingyu knows exactly who he’s bargaining with and is fully aware that he is the one with the upper hand. He knows that, if he needed to, he would win in a fight because he’s done it before, very easily. Tonight, he doesn’t want it to come to blows, so with a few sharply-spoken words, the metal leaves his skin. The rest of the night proceeds flawlessly and the adrenaline flows freely in his veins.

He’s bordering on giddy, but the mood in the car ride back is stifling. Minghao hasn’t said a single word. Mingyu doesn’t say anything, either, thinks that whatever conversation they’re about to have would be best without extra ears and prying eyes.

When they are alone, when they finally reach Mingyu’s bedroom, he asks, “Hao, what’s wrong? Why are you so quiet?”

Mingyu is sitting on his bed, but Minghao is standing by the dresser, removing the studs from his ears and the chains from his waist. He doesn’t answer right away. Mingyu is about to ask again, but then Minghao is walking over, sitting down next to him, learning his head on Mingyu’s shoulder. Naturally, Mingyu brings an arm around him, drawing him closer.

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

_Oh_. Is it bad that Mingyu feels his heart soar? He feels guilty, too, for being the source of Minghao’s anxiety, but more than that, he feels so light, knowing how much Minghao cares for him.

Mingyu angles Minghao’s face so that they are staring at one another. Their noses are almost touching.

“I’ll be more careful next time,” Mingyu says softly. “But I promise that as long as you’ll have me, you’ll never lose me.”

It’s certainly not the first time they’ve kissed, but it’s the first time Mingyu has ever felt Minghao be so urgent against his lips. He can taste the worry at the tip of Minghao’s tongue, can feel the words Minghao wants to say pour themselves down his throat as they kiss.

The first time, Minghao traces Mingyu’s tattoo with tongue and teeth and lips, maps out every square millimeter of it, not reverent, but open and unafraid. _Look_, his mouth says, _I know you. I know who you are. I know what you do. And I accept you just the same. I don’t love you any less for it._

He does it every time after, too, or at least he tries to, until Mingyu gets impatient, whining and tugging at Minghao’s hair in order to get what he really wants. But still, he appreciates the sentiment every time, and he understands.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

“Can I speak with you?”

Mingyu catches Minghao’s arm just as he’s about to walk out of the classroom door. It’s so reminiscent of the first time they spoke, but this time, it’s a different class (one that they picked out together, at the beginning of the new term), they weren’t sitting next to each other beforehand, and Mingyu’s heart still feels raw, still feels like it’s bleeding from open wounds.

Minghao’s face does not look unkind, but he is guarded in a way that hurts all the same. He nods slowly, glances down at the watch on his wrist. And that stings a little too because Mingyu knows Minghao’s next class is over an hour later.

Minghao follows him silently towards campus’s main lawns. It’s just slightly too cold for them to be having this conversation outside, but there’s something about the liminality of a park bench that Mingyu needs in this moment, this moment that doesn’t quite feel real.

They sit there for a little while in awkward silence. Mingyu doesn’t know how to start and it’s so difficult, looking at Minghao bundled up in a fluffy jacket with his nose turning pink from the cold, a perfect picture of innocence, knowing he’s about to ruin it all.

“What did you want to say?” Minghao finally asks. He shifts in his seat a little, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets and turning to face Mingyu, finally.

Mingyu sucks in a deep breath. Now or never. “I wasn’t lying, the other day. When I told you that I loved you.” He glances into Minghao’s eyes, studying him, but looks away quickly. It’s too hard for him to look at Minghao directly, too frightening because of how easily Minghao can read him and of how vulnerable he will be.

“But you were right in wondering how you could believe me,” Mingyu continues, “when it’s obvious that I haven’t been honest with you, that I’ve been hiding a large part of my life from you. I wanted to come clean about it, today, if you’ll let me. But you have to promise me something.”

Mingyu’s heart is pounding as he risks another glance at Minghao, whose brows have furrowed in confusion. He takes the silence as an offer to keep speaking.

“I have to warn you that what I’m about to tell you might put your life at risk, if it isn’t already just by being nice to me. So I need to ask you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you, and that you’ll listen to me finish.”

Minghao looks very apprehensive now. He’s so obviously concerned about the words coming out of Mingyu’s mouth, so obviously clueless about what Mingyu could possibly say that would change his life so drastically, so obviously weighing the risks and rewards of hearing Mingyu out. Ultimately, he nods.

“Okay,” Minghao says. There is an edge of steely resolve in his voice. “Explain everything to me.”

And so, Mingyu does.

He tries to keep out as many of the gory details as he can. It is, in part, because he himself doesn’t want to admit everything that he’s done. He’s done it all for his family, for his father and his mother and the people who are close to him not because he is the son of The Dragon, but because he is Kim Mingyu. He was born into this, and he didn’t have much of a choice, but Mingyu thinks that if he were given a choice, he would still choose the same. For his family.

It is, in part, because he is scared of how Minghao would react if he knew _everything_. Already, with the sugar-coated, fog-covered version Mingyu is sharing, his facial expression traverses through complicated acrobatics. Worry and fear and bafflement and, most of all, pure, unadulterated shock. Mingyu can tell that Minghao is trying his best to keep his face neutral, and for that he is grateful, but he expected nothing less than the reaction he’s getting.

By the time he finishes speaking, Mingyu’s throat is sore and his heart is pounding because of his nerves. At some point, his gaze had dropped to his hands, and now he’s too scared to meet Minghao’s eyes.

“Thank you for telling me,” Minghao says softly. He doesn’t sound like he hates Mingyu. He doesn’t sound disgusted or horrified, either. Mingyu looks up. There’s a ghost of a smile on Minghao’s face and, after far too long, his eyes finally look warm.

“I’m gonna need some time, Mingyu. To think about this, to process everything. Is that alright?”

Mingyu doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he nods his head in affirmation instead. Minghao smiles again, a gentle, ghost of a smile, before he takes his leave. Mingyu watches his back until he disappears around the corner. Minghao doesn’t once turn back.

He could take all the time in the world and Mingyu would still be there, waiting.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Mingyu thinks he’s more nervous than Minghao right now.

They’re standing in his father’s office. The mahogany desk that separates them has never felt as imposing as it does in this moment, has never felt quite so much like a chasm.

They’ve gotten most of the formalities out of the way, with Mingyu introducing Minghao, explaining a little bit about who he is and vouching for his skill and loyalty. Currently, the three stand at an impasse. Or, rather, Minghao and his father do. Mingyu feels rather like a spectator, but he’s nervous nonetheless.

“Why?” his father asks, straight and to the point.

“Well,” Minghao chuckles, “I already have the dragon tattoo for it.” It’s the same thing he told Mingyu, who can’t help but grin hearing the familiar words. His father’s eyes narrow in question. _Show me_, his gaze says. Thankfully, Minghao understands. He lifts his sweater over his head to reveal the infinity dragon tattoo just under his left collarbone, right above his heart.

Mingyu’s father smiles, a rare sight on first meetings such as these. Mingyu knows he wants to hear more and before he can ask, Minghao has already put his sweater back on and continued speaking.

“I know I could be an asset. I’ve had martial arts training since I was five years old and I’ve kept my fair share of secrets. Plus, I know Mingyu and I trust him. I know who he is and what he’s meant to do and I will follow him until he asks me to stop.”

Mingyu’s heart warms at the words, almost enough to counteract the dread he feels trying to assume his father’s reaction. The smile has disappeared from his father’s face. That doesn’t mean much, though, considering it shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

After a while, his father comes to a conclusion. “Well, if my son is vouching for you, I suppose…. If you fail us- no, if you fail _him_, then it will be a lesson he has to learn.”

Minghao’s expression doesn’t change, but Mingyu can tell that he’s relieved. Mingyu is, too, for that matter.

“You are dismissed.”

Minghao nods and turns to leave. Mingyu catches his hand lightly as he passes, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He knows his father will want to speak with him after Minghao crosses through the door and has already told Minghao beforehand, has already asked Minghao to wait for him in the car so they can leave together.

“Mingyu,” his father starts, “are you sure about this?”

He blinks, confused. Did his father not just invite Minghao into their organization? Did his father not just approve?

“Having Minghao with us…. I’m sure he’ll be fantastic and if you trust him to be loyal, then so do I, but are you sure you want to expose the person you’re in love with to this kind of life?”

Mingyu nearly chokes on his own spit.

“I- wait- what?” he splutters.

“You’re not subtle,” his father laughs. “Besides, that’s exactly how I looked at your mother before….” His father’s voice trails off, tone turning somber. “Well, before she was taken away from us.” Mingyu tenses. After all these years, it’s still difficult to talk about. Knowing something has happened is one thing, but acknowledging its reality out loud is another beast entirely. He knows what happened to his mother and knows what happened to his father because of it. It’s a history he would rather not repeat for himself and Minghao, a reason why he’s so frightened even though others might expect him to be content.

“It’s what he wants,” Mingyu replies, shoulders deflating. “He first brought it up to me a few days ago, and every day since I’ve been trying to talk him out of it or just make sure it’s what he wants. Minghao…. You’re right; I do love him. And one of the things I love about him is just how stubborn he can be about things that really matter to him. I guess this has become one of those things.”

Mingyu takes a breath, “The only thing I can do now is try to keep him safe.”

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

There’s a lump in his throat when he looks down at his phone and sees a text from Minghao.

_hey. i think we need to talk._

When has a “we need to talk” text ever been good?

His fingers tremble a little as he types out a reply: _sure.. when and where?_

Half an hour later, Mingyu’s sitting at a corner table in what he knows is one of Minghao’s favorite cafés. He’s never been here himself, but Minghao talks about this place constantly. He’s taking sips of an iced decaf coffee (decaf because any extra caffeine would decidedly _not_ be good for his already racing heart) and trying to stop his leg from bouncing up and down in nervousness.

Every time the bell chimes, Mingyu whips his head around to see who it is and feels a confusing pang of disappointment and relief when it isn’t Minghao.

When it finally is, he feels his breath catch.

They haven’t seen each other in a few days and, in that time, Minghao has evidently decided it would be a fantastic idea to dye his hair a gleaming silver. How his hair still manages to look healthy and fluffy and soft to touch is beyond Mingyu’s comprehension. Minghao looks like a _fairy_, and it’s absolutely unfair.

Minghao doesn’t glance around the café to look for Mingyu first. Instead, he walks up to the currently empty counter, smiling at the cashier. He greets the barista, too, who comes up to the counter to say hi, and it doesn’t look like he even places an order before reaching in his coat pocket for his wallet and paying.

A few moments later, the barista comes out with a steaming mug, handing it to Minghao and trusting him not be a klutz and drop the whole thing.

“Thanks, Shua!” Mingyu hears Minghao call out as he walks away, in a beeline straight towards where Mingyu is sitting. He’s not sure how Minghao’s figured out where he is, when he hasn’t seen Minghao look once in his direction this whole time, but maybe that’s just what they are to each other, moths drawn to flame.

When Minghao finally makes his way to the table, when he puts his mug of green tea on the table, Mingyu feels his heart seize up. Minghao looks up at him, _really_ looks at him, and there isn’t even a pair of glasses perched on his nose to come between their gazes.

“Hey,” he says, softly, gently, with a hint of a smile.

“H-hi,” Mingyu stutters, fully aware with how his face must be beet red by now, “you said you wanted to talk?”

Minghao nods, then takes a delicate sip of his tea, careful not to burn his tongue. Mingyu watches the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

It’s a few more painfully nerve-wracking seconds before Minghao speaks.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts slowly. “I’ve been thinking a lot over these last few days, actually, and I don’t know how you’re going to react to what I’m about to say, but first let me start by saying, I do love you, too, you know.”

A grin threatens to break out across Mingyu’s face. _Minghao loves me back! He said he loves me!_ It’s stopped, however, by the ominous aura surrounding them that reminds Mingyu there’s more to what Minghao has to say, and he might not like it.

“I love how persistent you are with everything you do, how curious you are, how passionate you are, how you make me feel like I’m interesting and talented and worth something.” The expression Minghao’s currently wearing is complicated, and Mingyu thinks he gets it. While Minghao has always been adept at understanding others’ emotions, at helping everyone else confront their feelings, he’s never been very fond of doing the same for himself.

“I’ll spare you the long, drawn-out confession for maybe another time, but long story short, I love you. I love you a lot and I love you for _you_ and that means I want to be part of every aspect of your life and I guess that’s why….”

He takes a breath, hardens his gaze. The intensity is almost frightening because Mingyu knows what it means. He knows that Minghao has made up his mind and there’s nothing he can do to change it and he doesn’t even know what it is Minghao is going to say, but he has an inkling and thinks he’ll want to make Minghao change his mind.

“I want to join you.”

Blood roars in Mingyu’s ears. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. It’s his greatest dream and his worst nightmare coming together, presenting themselves to him on a silver platter. A slidedeck of the future flashes before him: Minghao with him, planning, executing, ruling, side-by-side through everything; Minghao with him, targeted, constantly fearing for his life, paranoid and on-edge with everyone who so much as glances at him; Minghao, behind bars, or worse, bleeding out, caught, as Mingyu watches helplessly.

“You _what_?”

“I already have the dragon tattoo for it.”

Mingyu almost snorts. Almost, but….

“And if you wanted to leave? What then? It’s not easy, vanishing.”

Minghao smirks, “Then I would leave. And you would let me. You would protect me. I know you would.”

He sounds so self-assured when he says it, and for good reason. He’s not wrong. He’s decided to enter this life for Mingyu, and if he decides that it’s not the life he wants to lead, Mingyu will do everything, _everything_, in his power to give Minghao his old life back. To keep him safe. To make him happy.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

“_Who am I?_”

The question is so desperate, so broken. Exactly what his father has drilled into his head as necessary. _You see the way they bow towards me? You see the way they obey? This is power, Mingyu. This will be yours._

Mingyu feels like he’s going to throw up. He’s biting his lip so hard, he’s sure he’s broken skin. But he can barely tell when Minghao is sitting in his lap like this, terrified and confused.

“You are Xu Minghao,” Mingyu whispers, lips brushing Minghao’s ear. Their cheeks are touching, and it’s a small comfort amidst the pain. “You are kind and wise, but you’re also a big bully with a sharp tongue. You are creative and talented and the most intelligent person I know. You were brave enough to leave your home, to discover a path not laid out for you with only the trust in yourself and your abilities to guide you, and you are courageous enough to keep going. You are my best friend. You are the love of my life.”

Mingyu tastes acrid in his mouth.

“You are a Dragon now.”

**Author's Note:**

> my first seventeen fic… hopefully it went okay despite the fact that there’s way too much dialogue in here… i had to write this because un haeng il chi mingyu and hao’s fake dragon tattoo from diamond edge were yelling at me. regarding the plot’s timeline: much inspiration was drawn from the movie, the memento (2000) pls watch it bc it’s amazing imo
> 
> p.s. i was combing through the tag and there’s a fic with a similar title (totally different premise/storyline) that’s really good, so if you haven’t already and wanna give that a read or were wondering why “dragon fire” as a phrase in a title was familiar, then here’s the fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756915 !!!


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